


Temporal Temptation

by inkpink



Category: Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types
Genre: April Fools' Day 2017, Crack, I'll Never Look At This Clock the Same, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 16:31:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10517556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkpink/pseuds/inkpink
Summary: Have you ever wanted to spend an alluring night alone with Cogsworth, his chubby clock paws steady against your heaving chest?Yeah, me neither.





	

The night is dark. The air: auspicious. The date: inconsequential. The time: all Cogsworth’s.

A moment alone with your precious timepiece has arrived at last. After all these cold nights in the Beast’s Bungalo of Crippling Depression and Repression, being close to a clock who treasures you like this feels even more valuable.

The scent of rose petals is heavy in this secluded corner of the west wing. No one can find you here. _No one._ Not even the IRS, or Gaston’s magnificently rippling back muscles. _Oh_ , how they ripple.

You inhale deeply, savoring the flare of your nostrils against the cool, dust-laden air. The smell of wood polish is sharp. You moan pornographically at the very thought. Cogworth’s distinct, lemony scent never fails to get your blood boiling. Pledge had never seemed so sensual until you began your stint at this outrageously hidden, inefficient, and goddamn unkempt castle. You had never realized how easily one could become attracted to various household objects. You’d never imagined one clock in particular’s... _charm_.

The sound of laborious hopping echoes off the ancient stone. You adjust yourself once again on the loveseat upon which you are sprawled. You can only imagine how magnificently his pale clock face will contrast with the crushed red velvet. Beneath your layers of 18th century French peasant dress, you can feel your skin prickling.

Your beloved clock finally rounds the corner. His detailing is wet with perspiration, and his sides are scuffed from falling down the stairs many a time. His woody battle scars are so tantalizing you nearly drool. He hops excitedly about, almost as if he cannot contain the very energy keeping him alive. You shudder at the thought of what those solid wooden legs can do. Y’know, besides waddle and attempt to keep up with the other side characters.   

His legs still as he finally hops close enough to place one chubby clock hand upon your thigh without strain. You begin to feel dually violated and exhilarated. You have never felt an overlarge, stylized clock hand on your thigh before. Be careful who you call ugly in middle school, amiright? If only those bullies could see you now.

Cogsworth struggles up to the settee and wraps one polished mahogany wooden arm around your midsection. It is cool against your trembling, oversensitive  skin. You are in awe of his ability to touch you like this, seeing as how he is an anthropomorphic clock. It makes your knees weak, your thoughts hazy. His almighty brass pendulum seems to tick faster, matching your racing heartbeat. It has become increasingly difficult to keep from panting. His clock arm moustache twitches, as if entertained by your plight. You steel yourself to keep from swooning. No one has ever made you feel the way this antique woodwork can.

“Cogsworth,” you choke, your turbulent emotions overwhelming your ability to form coherent speech. He attempts to shoosh you, but his monstrous clock paws cannot reach your panting mouth. If only you had the mechanical proficiency to build him looming, muscular leg extensions. Then you could finally brush a tender kiss along his moonwhite clock face. You could at long last lavish his beautiful button nose with a wet, loving tongue.

As if able to read your mind, his freakish gilded hand stumps tighten around your ribs. You begin to wonder if he’s ever touched Lumiere this way. A shiver runs up your spine

“You sure make me…” you trail off.

“Go on,” Cogsworth urges, his rough British accent catching in his throat. “Tell me how you feel.”

“You’re sure making me... _tick tock_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy April Fools’ Day everyone!


End file.
